Blogging at you from Goa, India, former seat of the bygone Rave empire. High-season is over, but the dusty streets are still filled with merchants desperately trying to pawn off the remaining neon sarongs, Mother Teresa t-shirts (no, really) and sandalwood bongs, to the red-skinned middle-aged Brits trolling for cheap exotica.
Too hot for insight, Goa is thankfully less of a cultural center than a half-empty resort city. Don't get me wrong, we're enjoying ourselves here. It's a relief to see Indians in denim, open shirts and tank-tops...in other words, it's nice to see locals dressed as tackily as we are. There are saris for some, but the Portugueuse presence makes itself felt in the predominantly Catholic populace (and the colorful cathedrals and houses). So Hindu taboos don't register here, as can be seen by the tank tops sporting Shiva or Durga. These fill every shop on the street. I am puzzled by why an Indian would sell such things, but I suppose tourist markets dismantle the ethics of indiginous culture pretty quickly. Also, like I said, most of these people are Catholic. I can only imagine what a devout Hindu would think about seeing the face of God stretched over a hefty tourist's enormous, sunburned breasts. Probably something along the lines of, "Wow, I hate these fat sons of bitches."
